De Luain

In the Absence of Thalia – and oh! what a hole that leaves in our dreary lives! – I, Melpomene the Tragic shall fill in the Monday Special.

It is hot now, almost into July. Where I am now, in the Midwest, the corn is a little more than knee-high. The sky is a large, wide blue, interspersed with fluffy, round clouds of whimsy. And the lazy days of Summer are interrupted only by all the weeding that needs to be done around here.

And porch painting.

And housecleaning.

Ya know. All those chores that for some reason can only be done on nice Summer days.


In lighter news, Terpsichore has experimented another special cocktail known as The Union Club.

Urania is planing a cross-country road trip, which might include such attraction as: The World’s Biggest Ball of String, The Cowchip Throwing Capital of the World, and The Suitcase of DEATH.

Calliope has been painting a study of the Gypsy Madonna by Titian.

I am meanderingly reading through Sayer’s Gaudy Night, yet again. Savoring every bit of delicious word play and philosophical discussion that falls out of that wonderful book . . .

And Our Dear Absent One is undoubtably listening to strings, at her string  retreat. I am told by an undisclosed source that if you want to get a small taste of the craziness she has been enjoying, type “Gilles Apap” into a Youtube search and follow your nose.

Er, ears. Follow your ears.

I not sure exactly what all that means, but for the sake of continuity, I will give you a Monday Musical Selection that at least has some strings in it.

Also, it mentions Monday. Albeit in Gaelic.

The story told is that of Hunchback Donall, who heard the fairies singing “Monday, Tuesday . .  .” and then they – silly fairies! – could not remember what went next. And poor Donal was so distressed by the lack of narrative completion that finally sang out, “Monday, Tuesday, WEDNESDAY!” And the fairies were so delighted with his addition that they took away his hunchback.

May all your Mondays come to a similarly pleasant conclusion!

Your Friendly Neighborhood Muses


De Luian, De Mairt, by Gaelic Storm

One night through the black,
Poor Donall hunch back
His cart down the glenside was bringing;
When he heard the sweet sound
Of the faeries all round
And this is the song they were singing:
Dia Luain, Dia Mairt
Dia Luain, Dia Mairt
Dia Luain, Dia Mairt…

He stopped in his track,
Poor Donall hunch back,
At the voices so beautifully blending.
Though the music was sweet
It was quite incomplete,
For they couldn’t remember the ending:
Dia Luain, Dia Mairt
Dia Luain, Dia Mairt
Dia Luain, Dia Mairt…

Though poor Donall was shy,
He could never stand by
And leave their frustrations unheeded.
So he stifled his fear,
And he sang soft and clear,
Adding the word that they needed.
Dia Luain, Dia Mairt
Dia Luain, Dia Mairt
Dia Luain, Dia Mairt, agus Ceadaine.

And the faeries were glad,
So grateful he had
Put an end to the song they were voicing,
With their magical knack
Took the hump from his back,
And Donall went homeward rejoicing:
Dia Luain, Dia Mairt
Dia Luain, Dia Mairt
Dia Luain …Dia Mairt…. Ceadaine!


(P.S. There is an addendum to the tale of Donall the ex-hunchback.

Another hunchback heard the story, and decided to try to imitate Donall’s good fortune. He went off to the woods, and waited around until he heard the fairies singing, “Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday . . . ” and in his eagerness, he promptly gave them ALL the rest of the song: ” . . . Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday!” But fairies have very little memory space, and when they heard all these long confusing names they forgot even the weekdays that they had already learned! And then, in a fury, the cursed this man and sent him home to two humps on his back!

Moral: Pretend that Monday through Wednesday is that there is to the week, and you will get through much easier!)

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